“But perhaps he is following our steps!” said Dick excitedly.
“Nay, not he. Theer, what did I tell you?” cried Hickathrift as the dog suddenly stopped by the water, opposite to a thick bed of reeds a dozen yards or so from the bank.
Dick turned pale; the wheelwright ran down to the edge of the mere; and as the dog stood by the water barking loudly, Hickathrift waded in without hesitation, the boys following, with Grip swimming and snorting at their side, and taking up the chase again as soon as he reached the reeds.
It was only a matter of minutes now before the dog had rushed on before them, disappeared in the long growth, and then they heard him barking furiously.
“Let me go first, Mester Dick,” said Hickathrift hoarsely. “Nay, don’t, lad.”
There was a kindly tone of sympathy in the great fellow’s voice, but Dick did not give way. He splashed on through the reeds, his position having placed him in advance of his companions, and parting the tall growth he uttered a cry of pain.
The others joined him directly, and stood for a moment gazing down at where, standing on the very edge of the mere, Dick was holding up his father’s head from where he lay insensible among the reeds, his face white and drawn, his eyes nearly closed, and his hands clenched and stretched out before him.
Hickathrift said not a word, but, as in similar cases before, he raised the inanimate form, hung it over his shoulder, and waded back to firm ground.
“Hey, Mester Dick,” he said huskily, as he hurried towards his cottage, “I nivver thowt to hev seen a sight like this.”
“No, no,” cried Dick; “not there.”